


Dreamwalker

by OriginalImpossibleSouffleGirl



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mind Meld, POV Multiple, Seriously Canon Divergent, Sexual Content, Telepathy, There Is No Canon Only Zuul
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-17 20:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2322863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalImpossibleSouffleGirl/pseuds/OriginalImpossibleSouffleGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While stuck in Purgatory, Abbie finds that being a Witness comes with extra gifts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hokay, so... this is a fic I promised someone a while ago, and I'm despicable for taking so long. First multi-chapter fic, there probably won't be a ton of Katrina (sorry, not sorry)... and there will be loads of Ichabbie. May veer into angst--with me, it can't be helped--and it's probably gonna be AU the second S2 premieres. Also, rating may change in later chapters.

She’d tried every door and window, ignoring the protests of the younger her and young Jenny, but every attempt just left her frustrated. She’d even tried that TV cop stuff; shooting at the plastic locks, trying to kick the doors down, using her elbow to try to break a window... Nothing worked. Worse, it left Abbie disheartened and sore all over.

“You can’t force it,” the younger her said, “it’s best not to try.”

Abbie, sitting in one of the damned plastic chairs, looked at her younger self balefully.

“I have to get out of here,” she said deliberately. “I have to stop an apocalypse, remember? Second Witness?”

Younger Her shook her head. “You can’t leave. You’re safe here.”

“But no one else is!” Abbie shouted in frustration. “Moloch is prowling out there like some kind of horror movie monster, the literal end of days is knocking at the door, and Crane _still_ hasn’t shown up!”

That last was said a bit louder than she meant, and at her younger self’s flinch, Abbie sighed and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry. That’s... not about you. It’s just--I can’t be here right now. And every minute that passes is one more minute--"

“Time works differently here,” Young Jenny said.

Abbie stopped.

“What do you mean, ‘differently’?”

“It’s hard to say,” her younger self admitted. “We never leave.”

“But we do know that this place doesn’t follow the same rules as home.”

Abbie got up, angry again, but careful not to take it out on herself. From what she gathered, the girls were saying that she could be here for a really long time without rescue, and that the same time wouldn’t necessarily have elapsed on earth. From Crane’s perspective, she could’ve been gone for months--or seconds.

“How can I tell how long it’s been?”

The girls remained silent.

Great help, those two. Abbie paced the eerily cheerful dining room, elbow throbbing and head soon heading the same way. She was useless stuck in here. She had no idea if Jenny had found Crane, or if they were even okay. How would she even know if Crane and Katrina had even made it to--Wait.

Katrina did the whole dream and vision thing while she was stuck here. Maybe she could find a way to do that?

She turned to the girls again, a new light in her eyes.

“Okay, with no vague advice, and no riddles whatsoever: can I communicate with someone back home? Without being a witch, I mean.”

The girls shared a look.

“It’s... possible,” Young Jenny said, “but difficult. He is always watching.”

Abbie ignored that last. All she needed to know is that it was possible.

“Okay. How?”

The girls seemed confused by that one. Abbie sighed. It looked like it was up to her to figure it out.

“Last question: do I get a bedroom or something?”

 

* * *

 

 

It was hard for Crane to think clearly. As his son--bloody hell, his _son_ \--listed his sins, he could only helplessly think, _I’ve made a dreadful mistake._

He knew Jeremy could not castigate him worse than he castigated himself, but it was surprising how close he came. Logically, he knew that he’d had little power over Jeremy’s fate, but it was hard to think logically when he was bound by these infernal branches, unable yet _again_ to help either his wife or his son.

Unbidden, an uncharitable thought about his wife arose in his mind. So many of these events could have been avoided if she’d been more forthright with him, it cruelly whispered. Her secrecy and her deceit had been understandable to a point--now, it was clear that a good part of this mess was a direct result of her perfidy.

Crane mentally kicked himself. Only the worst sort of man blamed others for the failings of his character. He shared equally in his fate, a fact which Jeremy was all too glad too reiterate.

Crane didn’t bother to refute anything. A valued truth in his time and this one; a man reaps what he sows. And he’d turned against his father once himself, had he not? It seemed Jeremy was only following in his own father’s footsteps.

He’d followed his heart against the rule of tyranny--both England’s and his father’s--and while he did not think himself wrong in doing so, his disloyalty was bound to resurface to his detriment at some point in his life.

But it was not England nor his father he thought of when he thought of broken faith. No--he thought of Abigail Mills, and of how surprising the depth of his pain had been at their goodbye. He was not so naïve as to think that the lieutenant’s choice meant that he didn’t--in some form--do exactly what Moloch had predicted. He’d made his choice when he’d redrawn that blasted map, and losing her was his punishment.

He’d done the one thing he’d been tasked never to do--leave her behind. Even his son, in his guise as Henry Parrish, had urged him never to do so. And yet.

_Pride goeth before the fall_ , he thought, and as his son sealed him up in his coffin, he found he could not fault God for teaching him that lesson now, even if it were the last lesson he ever learned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie gets proactive, and for a guy who talks a big game about loving his wife, Crane sure does think about Abbie a lot...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't quite sure where to cut this chapter off, so bear with me. Also, mind the rating.

She’d been in Purgatory three days when it worked the first time.

She thought.

There were no sunrises nor sunsets in this place, and the markings of hours she’d started to make on the wall of her “room” were mere guesses.

She’d started the “night” the girls showed her to a bedroom on the second floor of the dollhouse and designated it as hers. It was surprisingly comfortable, despite the plastic bed, but she wasn’t in this for comfort anyway. The less time here, the better, so Crane better get his British ass back for her soon.

To that end, she’d started... meditating, for lack of a better word. She’d lain back on the bed and closed her eyes, focusing on Jenny, then Crane. Whoever picked up the call, really.

There was nothing the first night. Not a blip, not a sliver of a shadow. Nothing.

The second night, she’d thought that maybe--but no. It was her own wishful thinking, and instead of Jenny or Crane, she’d found Corbin. Or something very _like_ Corbin, and she’d spent the night sobbing hoarsely, too raw to try again.

The third night, she found herself in a misty realm not unlike the creepy forest where she’d found Crane again in Purgatory. Fist Bump Field, as she’d termed it.

She looked around warily, knowing that she’d be extremely vulnerable here, but this place was much less populated than Fist Bump Field. Actually, it was barren, which made her very nervous at the possibility of a trap. She didn’t know if it was her body or just her mind present here, but she knew instinctively that if either were to be damaged, she’d be--well, she’d be damned.

She also knew that she wasn’t accomplishing much just standing there, so she searched her immediate surroundings until she uncovered a path that led down a small hill.

She couldn’t see over it, however, and she didn’t see any tracks on it, but it seemed a better prospect than the dark forest behind her--especially when she’d seen as many horror movies as she had--so with a glance behind her to make sure no one or no _thing_ was following, she headed down the path.

She instinctively reached for the gun at her hip as she walked, just in case, then remembered that she no longer had one. Okay.

It wasn’t a big deal, because she still hadn’t seen anyone else, but it would’ve been nice to have the extra insurance.

After having walked for a few minutes (15? 20?), she saw a column of smoke rising from an unseen chimney.

_Guess this is the right way_ , she thought.

She upped her speed, and soon she found herself at the foot of the hill, staring at Corbin’s cabin.

Her stomach clenched, and she let out a pained gasp remembering the night before.

 

_Corbin smiles at her from across the booth, asks if she can stay the whole five minutes before the pie is soup._

_“Just five, kiddo, and then you can go back to your big city life.”_

_He’s older, his hands a little shakier than normal, and Abbie’s heart squeezes painfully at the thought that maybe his time will soon be up._

_A thin red line appears around Corbin’s neck, but disappears immediately, and Abbie thinks she imagined it._

_“Soon you’ll ask for a desk job and settle down with that English boy of yours.”_

_At this, Abbie laughs, a truly delighted sound._

_“Me? A desk? You’re going senile, old man.”_

_“You killed me, you know,” Corbin says in the same affectionate tone, “and your soul is forfeit.”_

_"Corbin--“_

_“Even now, your sister dies and soon the First Witness will die, too, and they will watch as your blood nourishes the armies of Hell.”_

_“CORBIN!”_

 

Abbie fought the urge to double over and took a deep, ragged breath before pushing it all down and walking toward the cabin.

 

* * *

 

 

He thought of her. Not his own predicament, but her.

Her eyes as she threatened to shoot him, completely unfazed by his outbursts.

He thought of the first time he’d seen her smile.

The way she looked at her former partner’s gravesite. How one tear had contained a world of pain.

His brave, honest lieutenant.

He thought how she’d looked as he’d left her behind, and he castigated himself for a fool.

 

* * *

 

The cabin seemed empty at first, but Abbie didn’t call out. The silence bothered her, but it was probably best to make sure there wasn’t some kind of hell beast here just waiting for nice, juicy Witness flesh to bite into before advertising her position.

Even with the lack of a firearm, her body shifted into what Jenny called “detective mode,” tense and ready to either evade or counter an attack. She crossed the main room slowly, making sure to step lightly, ears straining for any sound.

She checked the main room and the kitchen in this state of hyper-awareness. She was almost convinced that there was no one here and this was another stupid Purgatory bust, until she stepped toward the hall leading to the bedroom and heard what sounded like a moan.

_What the hell?_

She inched toward the room, taking care to avoid any floorboards that seemed loose.

“Yesss...”

It was whispered, and barely audible, but it was a man’s voice. Abbie tensed. It didn’t _sound_ like someone waiting to gut her and play with her insides, but...

Finally, she reached the open doorway.

There were more moans, and what sounded like a grunt, and Abbie could swear it sounded like--

“ _Yes_ , love.”

Crane?!

Seriously? She was stuck in Hell’s waiting room and Crane was--was--

Abbie stormed into the room.

“I _know_ you’re not doing what I think you’re doing when you’re supposed to be...”

She trailed off.

There were a lot of things she was expecting when she’d gone into the room. The foremost, of course, was Crane naked--with his wife, probably, which is why she hadn’t quite looked directly at the bed when she’d entered. But when she noticed that the, um, _sounds_ hadn’t stopped, but increased in intensity and volume, she’d involuntarily looked and was so shocked at what she saw that her mouth hung open for a full minute before she snapped it closed.

Crane wasn’t making love to his wife at all.

“ _Abbie_.”

Abbie gulped. Demons and witches and hellscapes and nothing had really prepared her for a vision of herself riding her best friend like a mechanical bull. She tried really hard not to focus on how his hands were clinging to her hips, how he looked at her above him with worshipful half-lidded eyes.

After what seemed an eternity--which it well could have been in this place--she cleared her throat.

“Crane,” she croaked.

The couple on the bed didn’t seem to hear her, so she raised her voice and tried again.

“Crane!”

“Don’t stop, lieutenant, please...”

Oookay, so he’d call her lieutenant in bed. That was an incredibly inconvenient thing to know right now.

Abbie sighed and reluctantly approached the bed. She reached out and tentatively touched Crane’s shoulder.

“Crane.”

The couple didn’t stop, although Abbie could swear Crane’s eyes flickered to her--the _real_ her--for a microsecond. She was beginning to wonder if she was actually in Crane’s mind--or her own. Not that she’d ever had this particular fantasy.

Abbie knelt by the bed, studiously ignoring the other her and focusing on getting Crane to stop saying her name in _that tone_ and paying attention to her.

“Crane, please. I need your help.”

His brow creased in confusion and he definitely looked at her now. But vaguely, as if he couldn’t quite see her.

“Lieutenant?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna have some issues with you calling me that now,” Abbie said wryly.

His confusion increased and Abbie sighed.

“I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but... this is a dream, Crane. I think. But _I’m_ real, and I need your help. Remember Purgatory? War?”

She could see him trying to piece things together.

“You said you’d come back for me, do you remember that?”

At that, he sat up, and Abbie noticed the other naked her had completely disappeared and he was suddenly partially dressed. Thank god.

“Miss Mills?”

Abbie sighed gratefully.

“Yes, Crane, it’s me.”

“Where am I? What is this?”

“Good questions. No idea. But we’re communicating, which is the best luck I’ve had in a while. Did Jenny find anything? Did you stop the Horseman of War?”

Now Crane was fully dressed, and they were no longer in the bedroom.

_Rules were different here_ , Abbie reminded herself. _Would've been nice to know this particular rule before walking all that way, though._

But why did Crane look so upset?

“Crane. Talk to me.”

Crane looked distressed, and he seemed really tense. Like when they’d found out who the Horseman of Death really was. Abbie braced herself for unpleasant news.

“Miss Mills,” he said raggedly, “I am so dreadfully sorry. I have been a fool.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Crane?”

“I--the Horseman of War. It’s Henry. I should’ve known somehow, I--and Katrina--“

“What did you just say?”

He never got to answer question, for at that very moment, he vanished into thin air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, again: had no idea how to end this, so forgive the awkward cut-off. Next chapter up in... um... hey, what's that over there?! *runs*


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes all you need is a little push.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm notoriously bad at updating. Y'all knew that about me already. Forgive me, it's been so long since I've written for this one that I've forgotten most of where I was going with it, but if y'all will allow me a little bit of stumbling (and long waiting times), I could maybe get back to the path.
> 
> Anyway... Here goes!

Popping out of whatever illusion he’d been in renewed Crane’s efforts at trying to get free. He pulled frantically at the vines, drawing blood when some tightened around his wrists as if to warn him.

  _She’s alive._

He didn’t know how the lieutenant was able to contact him but he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Always the clever one, his Miss Mills. He grunted as he managed to free one of his hands. The least he could do is match her determination.

 She needed him, and here, he could at least admit to himself that he needed her, too.

 His movement jostled the mobile phone Abbie had bought him out of his trousers and he stilled. He’d forgotten it was there, and thankfully Henry-- _Jeremy_ \--hadn’t thought to search for it. He shifted over to grab it, the vines tightening again, making him grunt in pain.

 “Keep at it,” he whispered at them. “It is nothing less than I deserve.”

 But still he managed to grab hold of the phone. He closed his eyes briefly in relief, then pressed a button to illuminate the coffin.

 “Hold fast, Abbie. I am coming.”

  


* * *

 

 

Jenny came to in the midst of glass and blood.

_Her_ blood, she noticed, her pounding head finally letting her eyes adjust to the scene. She furrowed her brow, remembering what had happened.

Henry. The Horseman.

She had to do something, she was on her way when the Headless Bitchass--Right. She had to warn Abbie and Crane. She tried to move but winced when she scraped across some glass, opening yet another cut.

“Death List Five,” she muttered as she worked through the pain. “Entry number one: Asshole Van Brunt.”

Slowly she pulled herself out of the window of the SUV, alert to any movement that might signal the Horseman was still near.

“Entry number two: Henry Lying-Ass Parrish. Or whatever the hell his real name is.”

She crawled some distance away, noting the destruction of the car ruefully.

“Entry number three: Asshole Van Brunt, again. Fucker.”

She staggered to her feet, ignoring the dizziness that signalled blood loss.

_Not gonna go out from a car crash. Fuck that. Gonna have to work harder at it, boys._

She stood, watching as smoke rose from some unseen part of the wreckage.

“Entry number four.” Her voice stronger now, she turned and pulled out her phone, accessing the compass app and heading in the direction she knew her sister and Crane were supposed to be.

“Discount White Walker lookin-ass Moloch.”

_Hold on, Abbie._

  


* * *

 

  


Abbie is startled awake by whispers she’d rather not explore too deeply. After finding out that she was actually physically in Corbin’s Nightmare Realm Cabin--teleportation is real, who knew?--she’d risked staying there rather than try to return to the dollhouse.

She had no idea if it was as safe as the girls had said the dollhouse was, but it creeped her out less and it was where she’d seen Crane.

She got up to pace before the fire, trying to figure what to do next.

“Okay, Mills, let’s think this through. First, what _can_ I do here?”

Abbie looked around, noting how identical the cabin was to its real world counterpart. The furniture was solid, as she found when she gave in to her exhaustion after pacing for hours when Crane poofed.

_Solid furniture, okay._

“So first, we fortify,” she resolved, pushing up her sleeves and shaking any lingering soreness from her arms.

There was an eerie silence surrounding the cabin as she worked to push furniture up against points of egress, but it was punctuated now and then by the same whispers that had awoken her.

She talked to herself to drown them out, and sang when she ran out of things to talk about.

She was halfway through _Do You Hear The People Sing_ before she realized she’d run out of both energy and furniture to buttress up against doors and windows.

She leaned against the kitchen counter, taking a few minutes to survey her work. The main living space was empty now; the couch was against the front door, along with the chairs and table from the “dining room.” Most of the logs from the fireplace were fit over windows, blocking the sickly light that counted as daylight in this realm and hopefully also any prying eyes.

She’d done the same for the windows in the bedroom, doing her best not to look at the bed in which Other Her had been rocking Dream Crane’s world.

She still needed a little time to get used to that one... If she even _wanted_ to get used to that one.

Okay, maybe just a _little_ used to--a soft thud sounded outside, startling Abbie out of her thoughts.

“Oh, fuck that,” she muttered before gathering herself and looking for some kind of weapon. “Not gonna be that type of fucking party.”

She searched the cabinets and kitchen drawers, hoping that since the cabin here was furnished it’d also have all the appliances and utensils-- _yes._

After finding and discarding a pot and a couple of pans--one of them cast-iron, which yeah, would be great for hitting but not so much for carrying and wielding--she found the same set of knives she’d bought Crane back when she was setting him up in the cabin.

She forwent the steak and boning knives and grabbed the eight inch chef’s knife instead, testing its weight and grip before grinning.

“Here’s hoping those fuckers bleed.”

  


* * *

 

 

He’d tried to reach Miss Jenny but was confounded by her voicemail system. Frustrated, he’d tried Captain Irving and was met with the same maddening problem. Finally, he’d called Jenny again and left a message informing her that he’d enabled the Global Positioning System on the phone, though he was not certain if it would aid her in finding him.

_It needs a clear view of the sky, Crane,_ the lieutenant’s amused voice informed him, and he smiled before he remembered that she wasn’t really there. Still, he allowed himself the indulgence of her.

_Gonna have to figure a way out yourself, old man._

“Understood,” he acknowledged out loud as he managed to slip the phone back into his trousers.

Seeing Miss Mills--even in such a maddeningly impermanent way--had energized him, and he renewed his efforts to weaken the vines’ hold on him. His freed hand made somewhat painful quick work of the vines on his other hand, and by the time he was done both wrists were slick with the slow seep of blood.

He took a moment to catch his breath, remembering the brief meeting with Abbie. She’d seemed to glow amidst the washed out palette of the Other World, but also wearied and scared. He ached to touch her, comfort her, and to that end he pushed against the top of the coffin, testing its weight.

_Crane._

Her voice again. He wanted to respond, to pretend she was there and that they were facing this new trial together, as they ought, but he’d had enough of illusions. Instead, he used her voice as fuel, graduating to punching the coffin, trying to break through.

_Crane, we might need your hands. You’re gonna shred them to shit doing it this way,_ her voice said reasonably.

He grunted, irritated, but conceded the point to the voice in his head.

“And what do _you_ suggest, Miss Mills?”

An invisible shrug he could almost visualize, and the voice comes again with a hint of amusement that makes him long so hard for her that if he could, he’d double over.

_Don’t look at me, I just work here._

He scoffed.

“Right.”

_Come on, Crane, you got this. You’re the one always talking about the pen being mightier than the sword or whatever. Brains over brawn, right?_

Petulantly he looked around himself in the coffin once again, feeling nothing but the malevolent vines and some dirt that had trickled in through the small opening he’d made with his fists.

“You’ll forgive me, lieutenant, if I can’t quite fashion a trowel out of dead vines and _dirt._ ”

And now he’d begun talking to himself. Brilliant.

_God, you’re so crabby when you’re buried alive. Maybe try some light?_

“Light? What possible use could I have--”

_Never know. Maybe looking at things clearly could spark an idea or something. I’m not an expert in getting out of graves, Crane._

He rolled his eyes, annoyed at his own mind’s asininity.

“Spark an--”

Wait. Spark.

He fumbled in his pockets before finding the small box nestled next to the phone.

“Yes, yes, this might work,” he excitedly told his phantom lieutenant. “The sulfur in the soil could--”

He removed the matches from the box, the energy making him work fast. In no time, he’d fashioned a rudimentary bomb, and readied himself to light it.

“If this doesn’t work, lieutenant… Abbie…”

_Crane, shut the fuck up and light the damn thing._

His lips quirked.

“As you wish.”

  


* * *

 

 

Jenny was about 60% sure she was lost, wandering around the same fucking patch of creepy woods for twenty minutes--after having walked from the damn wreckage for god knew how long--when a muffled blast sounded impossibly close to the west of her.

“When in doubt, go toward the explosion,” she quipped, then sprinted in that direction.

She cursed when she realized it was the clearing in which Moloch had first appeared to her and Abbie all those years ago.

She looked around for a weapon, wanting to be prepared in case he showed up, when the dirt in front of her shifted and a dirty, long-fingered hand grabbed hold of the edge of the widening hole.

It was soon followed by a coughing Ichabod Crane, who seemed not to notice she was standing there.

“Took you long enough,” she said drily.

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot promise regular updates, but I can promise updates, period. Gimme all of the feedback, please. It will help.


End file.
